Post by THE MANLIEST MAN ON THE PLANET on Nov 10, 2013 18:54:28 GMT -6
March 2013...
Should the whole frame of nature round him break,
In ruin and confusion hurled,
He, unconcerned, would hear the mighty crack,
And stand secure amidst a falling world.
He opened his eyes.
Desert Rose
Why do you live alone?
If you are sad
I'll make you leave this life
Are you white, blue or bloody red?
All I can see is drowning in cold grey sand
He lay floating in a sea of soft fleece, not quite connected to the world. He wasn't in his own room, but in a bright little chamber with soft, scarlet walls and hardly any furniture. The floors were seemingly coated not in rich carpet, or even smooth tiles. But instead a mammoth array of pale palm tree leaves. Some of them open, others cut and twisted into the shape of crucifixes. This display puzzled ‘The Polish Spirit’. It was so unusual to see such decoration. But as he lay there in relative comfort, from time to time someone in dark colours came in and did things to him, made him eat, or drink, or simply laid hands gently on his head. Trying to eliminate those thoughts that seemed to circle in his mind every time he closed his eyes into slumber.
Falling.
The winds of time
You knock me to the ground
I'm dying of thirst
I wanna run away
I don't know how to set me free to live
My mind cries out feeling pain
The air whistled past his ears, blowing his espresso coloured locks skywards as his body plummeted downwards in the darkness. There was nothing to see but the pitch blackness of the void, nothing to hear but that same constant whistling as he fell deeper, deeper into the never ending nothingness. There was nothing he could smell. Not the mouth-watering aroma of a freshly cooked meal, not the luscious scent of newly bloomed flowers, not even the sweat that poured from his brow as the gale of gravity attacked him. Even that whistle, that never ending whistle seemed to fall on deaf ears. It did not prick his senses, it did not bring him warmth that maybe there was something out there. It did not cause him fear, a fear that he would soon come crashing down to the floor, to splatter into a gruesome pile of goo, blood, guts and broken bones. It did not even give him hope, a hope that he would land safe and sound unharmed. A hope that this fall would end in peace. A hope that everything would be right again in the world.
He felt… nothing.
How long have I been feeling endless hurt?
Falling down, rain flows into my heart
In the pain I'm waiting for you
Can't go back
No place to go back to
Life is lost, Flowers fall
If it's all dreams
Now wake me up
If it's all real
Just kill me
His eyes opened once more. How long had passed? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? He was unsure. Only that every time he awoke that same black clad figure was hanging over him, pressed his sharp bony fingers into his cranium. For the short time he was conscious and the figure was in the room he tried not to let his thoughts wander to those vivid dreams of falling. For that matter, he really didn't have any inclination to go very far with any thought. He knew that he hurt, but it was pain at one remove—very distant, and not really affecting him, although he heard himself groaning from time to time. He knew he wasn't dead, and though he was surprised, that didn't matter much either. He wasn't entirely sure that the figure tending him was aware that he was aware of them. They certainly treated him as if he wasn't. But then his eyes would become heavy once more, and no matter how hard he fought to keep them open he would drift away once more…
I'm making the wall inside my heart
I don't wanna let my emotions get out
It scares me to look at the world
Don't want to find myself lost in your eyes
I tried to drown my past in grey
I never wanna feel more pain
Ran away from you without saying any words
What I don't wanna lose is love
Just like the void he fell into, a vast endless nullity that had seemed to have numbed all of his senses. He did not even feel the wind the bellowed against him. He didn’t feel his hairs stand on end, the sleeves of his ghost white shirt ruffle against him or the crimson tears that trickled down his face. He did not even know that his stigmata had kicked into high gear, wounds appearing in his palms and feet, thorn made cuts opening up across his forehead and a thick spear fed gash running down his left hand side that oozed a putrid mixture of red nectar and tainted water.
He drifted. That was the best word for it. When he was awake, he watched the clouds and the rain through his window, without a single thought interrupting his passive observation. Something warned him that he didn't want to think about why he was here. Another voice, a sweet voice echoed in his mind. “Oh My God! Andreas… Andreas what happened?” But even that voice was too distant and it drifted away. The pain drifted, too—drifted away from him, over the course of the days, were they days? He was unsure. As it drifted from him, he became more aware of what was going on around him, whether he liked it or not.
Through my eyes
Time goes by like tears
My emotion's losing the color of life
Kill my heart
Release all my pain
I'm shouting out loud
Insanity takes hold over me
He continued to fall. Not in peace, not in grace, not in anything. Constantly falling in this never ending limbo, a constant state of purgatory. No Alpha. No Omega. It just was. And what was better? The thought of freedom? The release of death? The question that had haunted Andreas Lasiewicz for so long yet had an answer. Was either better than this? It must be… But what is this? Where is this? Where Am I? Who am I? What is am? What is I? What is what? What?
Thoughts faded into obscurity, dreams vanished from memory; memories disappeared to be left instead with a vague sense of being, and belonging somewhere that once existed until even that was instantly destroyed by an unknown force. Those fleeting thoughts escaped him.
Turning away from the wall
Nothing I can see
The scream deep inside
Reflecting another person in my heart
He calls me from within
“Somebody call 911… Something has happened to Andreas… There is blood everywhere…” That voice echoed within him again. Kayla… Sweet Kayla…In his mind’s eye he held onto this memory, he clutched at it… but it was gone like the rest. No time to mourn it’s passing, for it was already gone. He had forgotten.
"All existence you see before you must be wiped out :
Dream, Reality, Memories,
and Yourself"
Why was it gone? Where did it go? Where did they all go? He tried to cling on. To all of it, any of it. A scream, a whisper, a thud, a whimper. Anything. Everything. Just something to hold on to as he tumbled onward and onward into the hellish oblivion that awaited him. Then the ache came. Directly to his head, to his brain. A constant piercing pain that would never go away. A pain so great that it took over his very being and made him want to end it all. ‘Freedom or Death? Grant me the freedom OF death. This is too much to bear,’ he thought. Moving hurt, talking hurt, thinking hurt.
“Somebody…anybody help…” Kayla’s voice repeated, over and over again, adding to the pain, adding to the suffering. How could he remember only her name? Whose name?
I begin to lose control of myself
My lust is so blind, destroys my mind
Nobody can stop my turning to madness
No matter how you try to hold me in your heart
Why do you wanna raise these walls?
I don't know the meaning of hatred
My brain gets blown away hearing words of lies
I only want to hold your love
And one evening, as the first stars began to shine through his window, he woke up completely for the first time, with his mind clear bar that singular voice that seemed to cry out for help. His hands, wrists and feet were bandaged, but they didn't hurt too much. That omnipresent headache was gone. And he remembered why he was here. But he couldn't explain it, and his memories didn't make any sense.
Before he could get any farther than that in his thinking, his door opened, and the dark clad figure entered, a tall, thin man who looked like nothing so much as a bundle of sticks made into a man and clothed in robes that enveloped him completely, with hair made of a bunch of faded grass just stuck into the top. He smiled when he saw that Lasiewicz was staring at him.
Figure: "Awake, precisely on time. Very good, Andreas Lasiewicz! There are some people who very much wish to speak with you, but first I have insisted that you have a proper meal. A Last Supper before you complete your journey."
The scent of the food drove all other thoughts from his mind and he fell on it, devouring it ravenously, although it was difficult at first to master the implements with bandaged wrists that didn't bend very well. He had never been so hungry before, and when he finished with a sigh, he was astonished at the amount of food he'd eaten. A tall, slender figure came to collect his empty plates. She was a beauty all right, with long, sleek blonde hair and legs that seemed to go on forever. She treaded very carefully into the room, almost as if she did not want to be seen. Andreas looked up at her, confused that she of all people was here.
Lasiewicz: “Katherine…”
Kat Grayson stood before him, placing a finger on her lips begging him to be quiet.
Kat: “I cannot be here long Andreas. Do not listen to them mate, ignore them. This is not you, you know this. Fight it. Please, for the sake of everyone, for the sake of yourself, FIGHT IT!”
Lasiewicz: “I-I do not understand…”
But she was gone, disappeared from the room as if she was never there in the first place. Lasiewicz looked about himself, all the plates were gone. Did she take them? Had he fallen asleep again? Did he dream the entire thing? What was going on?
Stab the dolls filled with hate
Wash yourself with their blood
Drive into the raging current of time
Swing your murderous weapon into the belly
"The earth"
Shout and start creating confusion
Shed your blood for pleasure
And what? For love?
What am I supposed to do?
After some time he was led out of the room, but he had been laid down for so long that his legs were weak and he needed a stick to aid him walking. His hair, which he had only recently cut short was now long, greasy and tangled and his beard was messy and unkempt, with more grey to its colour than he ever remembered. The cloaked figures led him down a cold dank, winding corridor with bare cracked walls and damp uneven cobbles that he struggled to walk upon bare foot. As he walked past he spotted another figure, seemingly hidden in the shadows. The cloaks did not seem to see this smartly dressed man, who was dressed in a fine tailor made suit and wore sharp aviator glasses. He spoke to him almost in a whisper, yet Lasiewicz could hear him as clear as day.
Gambino: “You have to get out of here, Lasie. This isn’t a safe place to be. If anybody can get out of here, it’s you. We are the Godfather’s of Wrestling. You are my friend and ally. You are not alone in this task… You are never alone…”
One of the cloaks clicked its fingers and the figure of Gabriel Gambino vanished from sight. What did this mean? Andreas thought to himself. Maybe it was the tiredness, maybe it was the lack of energy but he could not process the words that his friend had spoken. Where was he now? Why was he gone? And still Kayla’s voice was in his mind. “What happened? What has happened to him? I can’t wake him up! Please help…”
I believe in the madness called "Now"
Past and future prison my heart
Time is blind
But I wanna trace my love
on the wall of time, over pain in my heart
Art of life
Andreas finally reached the end of the corridor and walked outside. Although the sky was dark and the leafless condition of the trees around him left no doubt as to the season, the air was heavy and he struggled to breathe. There were just enough leaves left to make a semblance of bravery before the cold winds ripped them from the trees. Andreas looked up into those trees and saw another sharp suited figure sat there, kicking his legs back and forth as he smiled at him.
LJ Black: “Family is the most important thing in the world, Andreas. You have told me that on several occasions. Let me relay that message back to you, old friend. That counts for both your natural family, and the family you have formed with the R.e.C. No one will abandon you… Never lose hope…”
The ghostly image of LJ Black faded away as Lasiewicz looked on. Why was he receiving all of these visions? Where they visions, or were they reality? He could not quite get his head around it.
Insane blade stabbing dreams
Try to break all truth now
But I can't heal this broken heart in pain
Cannot start to live, Cannot end my life
Keep on crying
This was an herb garden. He sat on a stone bench, still warm from the sun, one of a grouping of four that surrounded a round, raised herb bed. This was one grouping of many; someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to make sure the garden was as ornamental as it was useful. It was perfectly easy to see; there were lights and lanterns everywhere, even in the gardens. Behind him stood an enormous building; this was where he had been housed until now, and he would have said it was quite the most enormous building he had ever seen—except that now, it wasn't. It was one of a complex of buildings, three in all, joined by enclosed walkways that formed three sides of a long, narrow rectangle, enclosing this long garden. Beyond this garden, however, were more gardens, and more buildings. Or was it just a single, large building? He couldn't make up his mind. The main part of it was huge, and very old, with extensions that must have been added to it over a long period of time so that it rambled in all directions. He just stared at it for a long time, wondering what it could possibly be. “Wake up, my love… Please… Doctor do something for him! Why won’t he wake up?”
Kayla… where are you?
Close my eyes
Time breathes I can hear
All love and sadness
Melt in my heart
Dry my tears
Wipe my bloody face
I wanna feel me living my life
Outside my walls
Between him and it was another, fanciful garden, beautifully planted so that even at this late season there were evergreen bushes and trees that kept the aspect verdant. This was a venue meant to be enjoyed in all seasons and times of the day or night, evidently; enormous oil torches stood by, shaped like shallow bowls on pedestals, ready to be lit when night fell, should there be a great occasion that called for the garden to be brilliantly illuminated. A suspicion had formed in his mind, and he kept dismissing it as nonsense, but the sight of all this kept bringing it back up, for who but a King could afford gardens and buildings like this? Surely this couldn't be—Why would anyone bring him to—There was no way this could be—
The Garden of Gethsemane…
A gathering of cloaked figures stood before him, all of them in the deepest, darkest black. Their hoods obscured the view of their faces and all of their hands were grasped together almost in prayer. Andreas looked upon them in confusion, unsure to their intentions but more so for where he was. Of all the places he was, why was he here? He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be as far away from this place as possible.
Figure #1:” You can't draw a picture of yesterday, so you're painting your heart with your blood…”
Figure #2: “You can't say "No"… Only turning the wheel of time with a rope around your neck…”
Figure #3: “You build a wall of morality and take a breath from between the bricks…”
Figure #4: “You make up imaginary enemies and are chased by the…”
Andreas grasped his head within his meaty palms, his brain wrecked with the words that these strange almost preternatural figures spoke. He tried shutting them out but the lyrics passed by his hands and straight through his ears. They assaulted his mind, and then surged through his arteries directly to his beating heart, stabbing it with vicious tridents and ripping the veins away. A feminine, almost elfin figure stood amongst the throng, standing amongst them but uneasy at the prospect. Almost as if she was infiltrating the group, but felt so uneasy in the company she kept.
Magdalena: “Oh Brother, where art thou? Where is the man who I respect? Where is the man that raised me almost as a father? Where is the man that taught me all I know? Where are you? Come back to your family. We need you. I need you. Don’t you realise what you are doing? You're trying to commit suicide…”
The thought assaulted him, those words this disappearing image of his little sister tore at him. But then she was gone, and so where her words only to be replaced by the constant chimes of the group that stood before him.
Figure #1:” You're satisfied with your prologue…now you're painting your first chapter black…”
Figure #2: “You are putting the scraps of life together and trying to make an asylum for yourself…”
Figure #3: “You're hitting a bell at the edge of the stage and…”
A final figure emerged among them, pulling back his hood to reveal a handsome yet powerful man with a perfectly trimmed moustache and goatee combo, his curled hair was fashionable styled and he bore a sinister grin on his face as his eyes burned a blazing red. It was like Andreas Lasiewicz was staring into a mirror. He was staring at an image of himself.
Lasiewicz Clone: “You are trying to kill me…”
He took a step backwards. He knew what he had to do. He knew what he wanted to do. He had to get out of here. He had to get back to his family, he had to get back to his friends, he had to get back to his beloved Kayla. He had to live! He had to survive. Against all odds, against all factions, against all these sinister temptations to embrace the darkness he realised he had all he needed. He turned to run, find an exit to this madness. But a figure stood alongside him, a figure that looked familiar and yet distant at the same time. Clad in black denim on denim with a cowboy hat upon his head, one of deepest black. He placed his hand upon Andreas’ shoulder and pushed him with unnatural power towards the gathering throng of cloaked figures. Andreas’ turned to him as he fell upon the floor, glaring up at the face that he instantly recognised.
Lasiewicz: “Brother… You betray me…”
The figure glared at him, a malicious look upon his face. In his hand he held dozens of silver coins that he rattled about. This man, this renegade riddled by sin laughed in the face of the fallen Pole, poked fun at his confused face as he lay here in the garden.
Redfield: “Brother? You are not my brother…”
I believe in the madness called "Now"
Time goes flowing, breaking my heart
Wanna live
Can't let my heart kill myself
Still I haven't found what I'm looking for
Art of life
I try to stop myself
But my heart goes to destroy the truth
Tell me why
I want the meaning of my life
Do I try to live, Do I try to love
In my dream
The figures dived on him, throwing vicious punches and kicks to his sternum as the image of Redfield cried out in intense laughter. He spun a wicked barbed chain in his hands, swirling it around his head as the figures tore at Lasiewicz’s ghost white shirt. Then The Sinner cracked it down like a vicious whip onto Andreas’ exposed back, breaking the skin and letting his red life force spill out from the gash it created. Again and again he struck down upon the figure of ‘The Polish Spirit’, and again and again Lasiewicz let out excruciating wails of pain. The strikes were horrifying, causing great welts to appear upon his back, blood to seep out that poured freely onto the cold floor of the garden. Andreas collapsed to the floor for the first time, his face hitting the ground breaking his nose. He stared up with blurred eyes to see a vague figure looking on, helpless to aid him. The figure had short dark hair, his face and head heavily bandaged as if he had suffered a similar fate. The figure was hunched, struggled to stand as if his own injuries were just as severe and he wore a thick neck brace that kept his head straight.
Jon Collins: “Stand tall. Don't let them see you shaken. I promise you you're never going to walk alone. All will be well, friend.”
The figure of his friend Jon Collins looked on in sympathy, but Andreas knew what he must do. As the vision of his friend vanished without a trace, he pulled himself up. Even though it hurt, even though the pain ripped him apart he stood defiant. The cloaked figures glared at one another, as if they did not expect such resilience.
Redfield: “Bring the instrument of his destruction…”
The figures began to drag him away from the garden, out from the buildings and into an opening. The wind howled like a pack of rabid wolves, sand entering all of his cuts and wounds. Andreas opened his eyes, realising he was at the base of a mountain, a terrifyingly huge lump of red rock almost in the shape of a massive skull. He squinted his eyes as he stared at the rising sun, bright and brilliant yet at the same time an inferno of immense dread. A sudden shadow cast over the sunlight, leaving Andreas in a cool yet comforting shade for a mere moment as a gentle hand was placed upon his bruised cheek. He looked up at the angelic figure; one from his past that he never knew would support him in his hour of need.
Angelica: “This isn’t the way Andreas… Do not follow the path that I went down. Do not allow your darkness to consume you like I did. You have finally found what you are looking for… My sister has found what she has been looking for. Don’t let go of that Andreas… Never let go…”
I'm breaking the wall inside my heart
I just wanna let my emotions get out
Nobody can stop
I'm running to freedom
No matter how you try to hold me in your world
Like a doll carried by the flow of time
I sacrificed the present moment for the future
I was in chains of memory half-blinded
Losing my heart, walking in the sea of dreams
The red haired beauty evaporated before his very eyes as a sudden weight pushed him down. Splinters entered his skin as the ghostly and demonic figure of Jason Redfield placed a gigantic wooden cross upon his back. It felt as if he was carrying the entire world on his shoulders. All the seas, every country, every hope and every dream. Every crime, every act of malice, every act of murder and rape. The Sinner had placed all the sins of the world upon him and it was too much for him to bear.
Murdock: “You are not alone brah…”
Andreas turned to the figure next to him, thick bearded and muscular. The man was his long-time ally, “Howlin’ Mad” Murdock, and he smiled warmly at Andreas as he grabbed hold of the cross.
Murdock: “I will always support you, Lasie. No matter what. I’m here, like so many others for as long as you need me…”
Andreas nodded to his friend, thanking him without words as they began to make their journey up the mountain. They were still flanked by the cloaked figures, who were quiet and shalom and Redfield followed them from behind, cracking his chain whip as they went along. The sun seemed to burn him more than the stings of Sinner’s whip though each strike only seemed to spur him on more.
Close my eyes
Rose breathes I can hear
All love and sadness melt in my heart
Dry my tears
Wipe my bloody face
I wanna feel me living my life
Outside my mind
The path they took was flanked by gigantic steel guardrails and both sides were filled with hundreds of people, screaming and shouting Andreas’ name as he went by. It was as if he was making his final entrance to the ring, the fans shouting and hollering in appreciation for the man they once labelled Saviour. But right now, he was unsure if they spurred him on for success, or their inaudible chants were setting him up for his downfall. Oh how he wanted to escape, oh how he wanted to be free. He needed to be away from this place and he longed to be back in the arms of his dear Kayla. He could have sworn he heard her voice again. “Wake up Andreas… Please… Don’t leave me here,” he thought he heard her say. But he could not see any sight of her. She was nowhere to be found. Neither was Murdock for that matter. Andreas had felt the weight of the crucifix weigh down on him once more as his helpful friend had vanished like the others. Either that or he had been pulled away by one of the cloaked flock. The whip cracked down upon him again as he fell for the second time.
Dreams can make me mad
I can't leave my dream
I can't stop myself
Don't know what I am
What lies are truth?
What truths are lies?
A warm towel mopped at his face, clearing the blood from his face. A sudden sense of peace and comfort washed over him as he stared into the deep brown eyes of the young lady who stood before him. Although she shed tears of grief, her caring smile gave him hope.
Lasiewicz: “Jessica…”
His eldest daughter let out a whimper as she seemingly mopped away the pain and torment that he was feeling. She embraced him in a tight hug, as if it would be the last time she would ever do so and she refused to let go even when the cloaked figures tried to pull her off.
Jessica: “Daddy… I don’t want you to go! Why does this have to happen? Why do they have to do this to you? Please… Fight it. Come home…”
She was torn away from her father’ side and hurled into the crowd. Andreas reached out to her, but it was too late. She was gone. Andreas forced himself to get up, even when he thought he heard his sweet Kayla’s voice cry out to him once more. “Somebody please… Somebody help… He won’t wake up… He’s bleeding! Wake up Andreas, please. Come back to me…” But there was nothing he could do but carry on up the perilous mount. He could not see Kayla through the crowd, but her voice always seemed in his head, though he gained a great comfort from it. It gave him strength to feel as if she was with him all the way.
Time goes flowing, breaking my heart
Wanna live
Can't let my heart kill myself
Still I haven't found what I'm looking for
The whip scourged him some more as he reached the summit, hot blood seeping from his many wounds. Thorns pierced the skin on his forehead as a makeshift crown was placed upon his head, and the crimson liquid obscured his vision some more, tainting the whole world red as he fell to the floor for the third time. He looked across the peak of the mountain and saw a majestic temple erected there, with beautiful marble columns climbing skyward. A crimson curtain hung from the entrance way embroidered with the images of a soaring Silver Eagle and a golden chained mace that seemed to swing into the bird of prey in an act of shear aggression. A large number of women seemed to gather around him at this point, looking down on their fallen comrade. Some were instantly recognisable like Glory Braddock, Angela Jameson, Dawn Lohan, Serenity, Samantha Raine and Cassidy Haze. And faces he had not seen in years such as Coral Marie, Fifi Mimosa and Meagan Collins. The gathering of mourning women parted to reveal a gigantic and effortlessly handsome African American, clad in the sharpest of suits and wearing stylish aviator sunglasses.
Silver: "Don't be an asshole man. Do what your other half says or you'll never get laid again... Except in prison... With the ironically-named, Tiny Mustafa."
The comment, even though typical of Silver and even though Andreas was in his direst of needs made the fallen ‘Polish Spirit’ crack a short laugh. Silver then placed a lit cigarette in Andreas’ mouth before turning and leaving with the large group of females.
I try to stop myself
But my heart goes to destroy the truth
Tell me why
I want the meaning of my life
Do I try to live, Do I try to love
As Lasiewicz smoked his final cigarette, the mysterious figures tore at his garments, ripping bits of cloth from him as Andreas lay there helpless to stop them. Jason Redfield stood there laughing at this image, letting a banshee like scream of ecstasy as Andreas struggled to move to no avail. The figures picked up the frail and broken body of Andreas Lasiewicz and placed him upon the cross. They each took long; sharp barbaric nails and placed them above the palms of his hands and feet. They hovered them over for a moment as instead of hammers they took up morning stars as Andreas braced himself for what was coming.
Redfield: “End it…”
The figures struck with untold fury and plunged the nails deep into his flesh, but Andreas was so exhausted that he could not even let out a whimper of pain. Again and again they swung their weapons, sending the vile nails straight through his hands and feet, fixing him to the cross. Yet Andreas was now numb to it all. He could not feel a thing, even as they lifted his cross up and set it upright.
An Eternal Bleeding heart
You never wanna breathe your last
Wanna live
He hung there, irresponsive and not moving. He merely stared out into the sun for what seemed to be an eternity. All of his hopes and dreams slowly vanishing before his very eyes. He could no longer see his friends, he could not hear their advice, their kind words and well wishes. They were nowhere to be found. All he saw was the temple, the cloaked figures and Redfield, who now clutched a vicious looking spear in his hands that he drove into Andreas side to see if he was still alive. Blood poured freely from the wound, but Andreas didn’t even seem to notice. He was transfixed by the image in front of him. A slender red headed beauty immaculately dressed, her hair flowing down to her shoulders and tears welling up in her eyes. By each side of her were two small children, who shared her looks. One whose hair matched hers, the other matched Andreas’. They clung onto her hands, sobbing uncontrollably at the sight of what was happening.
Lasiewicz: “Kayla… Children… I-I’m sorry… I can’t stop it…”
Kayla broke into uncontrollable tears, extending her arm out to him but she could not quite reach him, as if his cross was growing by the minute and he was pulled further and further away from his love.
Kayla: “…I love you…”
Andreas closed his eyes. It was all he needed to hear. The last thing he would hear from anybody. It was over.
Lasiewicz: “Deus meus, Deus meus, quid dereliquisti me?”
He lolled his head to his right hand side as Redfield laughed maliciously.
Lasiewicz: “Consummatum est…..”
At that moment… Andreas Lasiewicz died…
Still I'm feeling for
A Rose is breathing love
In my life
...tbc...
